


A Future Fic Moment

by Nerdyesque



Series: Flashes in the pan [1]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Randomness that ate my brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdyesque/pseuds/Nerdyesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only in the past eight months they'd managed to cobble a semblance of true friendship, which was as surprising to them as to anyone who knew their complicated back-story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Future Fic Moment

Logan sighed as he looked at Veronica's tiny body passed out next to Mac's slightly larger one on the narrow bed. Neither girl could hold their liquor well and he shuddered to think what the next few hours would bring. He'd been down this road before with his ex and knew it would start with the hiccups, which then lead to dry heaves, before vomit would finally spew. He could never figure out the physics of Veronica's body - she ate enough for the entire first string of a football team but weighed less than his surfboard. The only time he ever saw the downside of her appetite was when she drank, so pretty much next to never. He didn't bother asking what led to this drinking binge as he knew he wouldn't get a straight answer out of her loyal best friend.

He looked sideways at Wallace, grinning at the grimace on his face. Logan knew the other boy didn't like him and was glad he wasn't with Veronica any more, but yet he was still one of the few people Wallace felt comfortable enough calling when something went wrong. The Neptune High alums made a strange quintet - Dick with his surfer boy looks and intelligence, Mac with her shark-like business sense and aptitude, Weevil's devilish humor which masked his soft center, Wallace's fierce loyalty and willingness to go the extra mile, and Logan's jackass attitude and inflexible sense of honor. They were all satellites revolving around the dark mysterious face of Veronica Mars.

But there was one person conspicuous in his absence.

"Why isn't Piss hauling his lady love home?"

Logan didn't really care, but felt he should at least ask. The floppy-haired DJ and Veronica were going on two years of dating, so it wasn't an unusual question. The angry wound of her absence at his side had dulled to an ache, something similar to the phantom pain that flared for an amputee whenever it rained. And since it rarely rained in sunny SoCal, Logan refused to be bothered by the sight of Piz wrapped around Veronica in a way he'd never seen her allow any boyfriend save him. Besides, he was content with his life and taught himself to not need or want anything more.

Wallace shrugged, made a strange face, and muttered something too low for Logan to catch.

"You want to say that again so anyone without supersonic powers can hear you?"

" _Piz_ " - extra emphasis on his name - "is...uh...not here."

"I figured that out since your dorm room is the size of a postage stamp without the same nostalgic charm." Logan made a show of looking around, ignoring Piz's bed where the infamous sex tape was made, and then returned his gaze to the uncomfortable looking Wallace.

"You need to talk to V about it. Not my place."

Any retort he would've made to that curious response was forestalled by Veronica's moan, followed by an ominous hiccup.

Wallace leaned down and grabbed Mac, rolling her away to safety, then glared up at Logan.

"Get your rich white boy ass moving. Take her away."

Logan wasn't usually prone to taking orders from anyone, but since it involved Veronica in his arms, despite the very real and imminent threat of vomit, he eagerly picked her slight body up. He was amused at how the unmistakable smell of Jack Daniels, usually his drink of choice and not hers, didn't fully cover the soft floral and cinnamon spiced perfume she wore. Once, in an effort to replace memories of her with another, he'd sprayed her scent on a girl he was casually dating and was surprised by how disgusting it smelled on the new girl.

Carting her to his car turned out easier than he expected because the hiccups were sporadic and she never regained consciousness. He debated about taking her to her apartment, but decided against it because he had no desire to spar with her father, so he turned his Range Rover to the new address he'd recently acquired.

The small house (to him) was tucked up on a bluff overlooking the ocean, like the monstrosity he grew up in, but all similarities ended there. It wasn't in the coveted 09er zip, but the small section of Neptune that straddled the wealthy and the welfare dependent neighborhoods. Houses there rarely went to market as they were the hidden treasure in the dung heap that was this town; everyone in this small area had owned their homes for generations because they were passed down through familial lines. Logan had gotten lucky with this one because the owner, a widower without children, had no one to will his house to so the bank acquired it and promptly put up it for sale.

History, surprising to those who didn't know him well, was one of Logan favorite subjects, and he'd once written a paper on the lighthouse that stood where he now lived. It was the beacon in the night that lead ships safely to Neptune Port. The docks and lighthouse were long gone, but the name stuck and so he lived on Beacon Bluff. He'd found it quite by accident, as he had gone for a drive one afternoon and somehow found his way up the long winding road; Logan had seen the signs for an open house and was bored enough to check it out.

By the time he did a walk through of the house, his faint interest had deepened into fascination. He couldn't have explained it if anyone asked, but he'd known he had to own it; fortunately money was no object for him, and an hour after his arrival, the real estate agent was in a happy if stunned state as she clutched a check for the full asking price. Logan hadn't bothered quibbling, just whipped out his checkbook, and put his father's blood money to good use. At twenty-one, he'd finally retained full control of his parents' estate and found it in a healthier state than previously expected, given the abuse his trust fund had taken. It appeared Aaron was more faithful to money than he ever was to his wife, because he'd managed his wealth with an aplomb that still shocked his son whenever he stopped to think about it. His father had never really squandered the paychecks he'd made, though his family had lived in the manner befitting an A-list movie star, and left Logan flush enough to never need work a day in his life.

None of this was on Logan's mind as he carried his many-times ex over the threshold and up the _Gone with the Wind_ style sweeping staircase towards his bedroom. He had six rooms to put her in, but only his was actually furnished because the previous owner apparently didn't entertain guests often. There was little Logan wanted to change about the house, other than to update certain features in the kitchen and living room; he'd already installed a very sophisticated alarm system designed to repel any and all intruders. He thought he might eventually decorate the unused rooms, but hadn't gotten around to it yet.

A sense of rightness came to Logan as he gently placed Veronica in the center of his California King mattress; while not completely celibate, he'd never brought a date back here, so the tiny blond was the first woman to grace his new home and bed. He hadn't shown his purchase to any of his friends, not even Dick; despite everything, he'd wanted Veronica to demand to see it as she'd been urging him for years to leave the Neptune Grand, but she'd kept to their agreement of non-involvement in each others' lives for the sake of group harmony, and never said a word or even just randomly turned up on his doorstep. If he missed the bantering and arguing, of Veronica insisting on him being better than he was, he would never show it.

Logan stopped being her doormat around the same time she'd tried to kick him out of her life for good after his very public beat down of her current boyfriend - it was only in the past eight months they'd managed to cobble a semblance of true friendship, which was as surprising to them as to anyone who knew their complicated back-story. He joked it was because they'd fallen out of lust and into like - though there were still times when he took himself in hand and only her memory could bring him to completion.

In his quieter moments of self-reflection, usually when he was paddling out to catch a wave, he realized he'd never really been friends with Veronica at any point in their lives. They'd been forced into a quasi-relationship when both dated the Kanes, which resulted into a superficial connection that might've evolved into something more concrete had outside forces and tragic consequences not interfered. Their failure as a couple was due to the lack of a solid foundation: too much wrong had passed for trust and commonality to develop, even as it bound them together. Veronica's penchant for danger and Logan's unresolved emotional issues kept them on a destructive loop they could only escape if they admitted the harm they did to each other and themselves, but it was easier to bury the truth than confront it; something that was both puzzling and ironic about them since both used truth as a weapon against others.

These thoughts were background noise at the periphery of his mind as his prediction of Veronica's reaction to alcohol became all too true, resulting in a shower for the both of them (him heroically ignoring her nudity) and replacing the sheets on the bed. After dressing her in an old shirt and boxers, Logan threw everything in the washer and returned to his room, intent on getting a little shut eye before the inevitable Marsuvius explosion. The mattress was large enough for five people of reasonable size to sleep side by side and have room to spare, so he thought nothing of tucking a light blanket around Veronica to ward off any chill and settling on the other side.

At some point after he fell into sleep, they drew together with the magnetic certainty of comfortable lovers, and Veronica curled into his larger body as his legs entwined between hers, so she lay half on and half under him. Neither was consciously aware of their proximity, but the subconscious ruling them in this moment was fully cognizant of their positions, lending a sense of familiar intimacy and security both secretly missed in their wakeful lives.

So Logan could be forgiven for forgetting the terribly lonely years without his beloved, and sleepily responding to her kittenish stretching and kneading of his muscles. Veronica, in turn, was caught between the haziness of reality and the luring warmth of dreams, so she allowed herself to sink into the seemingly real touch of the boy she loved and lost time and again, drowning out the usually impeccable voice of warning softly blaring the alarm that something wasn't right.

Each touch was welcomed and reciprocated, magnifying the pleasure until both writhed in the grip of intoxication, straining to eliminate the separation of their flesh. When they were united in the earthiest of ways, the inexorable rush of their union's climax arose and washed over them, leaving them replete with satisfaction they hadn't managed to replicate with anyone else. Neither chose to swim to full consciousness, so as to protect this irreplaceable and fleeting moment of connection, leaving only tender silence in the hushed dawn of the new day.

It was inevitable pain was involved in any situation involving Veronica, or so Logan concluded as he held the t-shirt to his face in a poor attempt to staunch the bleeding of his broken nose. He'd been rudely awakened by a punch to the face as his tiny ex disproved any lingering thoughts she was going soft in her advancing age with a southpaw hit worthy of the featherweight title. Any grudge he ordinarily would've held against such an action was canceled out by the horror of realization they'd had sleep sex. Since they started dating in the terrible year after Veronica's rape, Logan had made every effort of keeping sex strictly sober, more so on his part than hers, so he felt the crippling weight of his failure compounded with a punch induced migraine.

It might've soothed his conscience some had he any insight into Veronica's mind, which wasn't so much screaming RAPE but STUPID HEIFER as she understood her culpability in their lovemaking. How she ended up naked and thoroughly debauched in Logan's bed was less important to her in that moment than the scrambling through shredded mental walls she'd erected in an effort to keep him safely contained. But, as his wont in life, he refused to stay in the box marked "Past Mistakes," and had frolicked merrily through her dreams and daydreams, despite her very real attempt at normalcy with Piz.

Perhaps if she'd been more of a regular girl and less a teenage crime fighting PI with a superhero complex, she would've understood what Piz had seen from the first and ignored until he couldn't any longer - she was meant for messy and complicated, and had a large "Property of Logan Echolls" mark stamped on her forehead for everyone but her to see. She'd known from the instant she'd opened her blearily eyes and felt the pleasant tingle of athletic sex, there was only one man who ever made her feel that way and it wasn't Stosh Piznarski from Beaverton, Oregon. So Veronica did what the Veronica Marses of this world do best - lash out and land a bone breaking hit on her sleeping ex-lover-cum-recent-lover for reminding her just how much she missed him.

Logan stared at Veronica's somewhat remorseful face, seeing the rush of cathartic glee in her changeable blue eyes instead of fear or anger, which allowed him to speak the only truth he'd ever known regardless of time, distance, and separation: "I love you." Then because he was Logan Echolls, white queen to her black king, he added. "I do have to protest your methods of getting my attention though. Siccing Wallace on me after you drank too much, followed by vomiting all over me, and the coup de grace of seducing me unsuspectingly while I sleep are the hallmarks of a desperate woman, so you're lucky I respond to that kind of coercion.

Veronica leaned over, ignoring his mask of blood and cotton, dropping a light kiss on his uninjured cheek. The stress of the past week - finally admitting she was in a failing relationship, fighting with her father over letting her take cases again, and trying to study for midterms - melted away as she reveled in her current position. There was definitely pain, trauma, angst, love, incredible sex, and fun in her future - apparently horoscopes occasionally got it right. There was no denying the events of the last two year, but hopefully, they had grown and matured enough into their identities to give this the old college try with a possible outcome of success. Who knew, maybe this time they'd get it right. Hope, something she'd almost forgotten, was a small nebulous stirring in her heart as she breathed in the scents of home and flesh encapsulated in the form of one Logan Echolls.

"Let's go get ice for your nose and you can give me a tour of your new house."

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that popped into my head but didn't fit into any of the stories I'm working on, so here you go.


End file.
